


Reunion

by MissMeggsie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Post-Reichenbach, john just really needs to punch sherlock in the face, which becomes slightly fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 17:57:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMeggsie/pseuds/MissMeggsie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been three years since Reichenbach, and Sherlock has really earned a punch in the face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This was written January 2012 and will probably end up looking pretty silly by the time season 3 finally comes around, but I thought I'd just go ahead and share it anyway. 'Graffiti' refers to the Believe In Sherlock movement that swept Tumblr and Twitter at around the same time.

‘Hello, John.’

 

The expression on Sherlock’s face was hesitantly apologetic, asking for forgiveness under the wary smile that twitched the corners of his mouth upwards. John was frozen, staring at the man in front of him in utter disbelief.

 

‘It’s been… three… years…’ he said finally, his voice shaking slightly.

‘I know.’ Sherlock offered another apologetic almost-smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

 

A second later, John’s fist had plunged into the side of his face. Sherlock stumbled backward, clutching his jaw.

 

‘IT’S BEEN _THREE_. _YEARS!_ ’ John bellowed, his entire body shaking.

‘John, I’m sorry—’

The doctor aimed another fist at Sherlock’s face, the detective just barely managing to duck out of the way.

‘ _John_!’

‘Do you have ANY – _IDEA—_ ’ John shouted, punctuating his words with more punches, aimed at any part of Sherlock he could reach, ‘—how _MUCH_ —’

Sherlock dodged a particularly violent swing. ‘John, I did it _for you_!’

The doctor stayed his raised fist, falling back to let out a laugh of disbelief laced with the bitterness of three-years-worth of agony.

‘For me?’ He let out another hollow laugh. ‘Sherlock, for _three years_ , I thought my best friend was _dead_ ,’ he said, his voice catching on the last few words. ‘Do you have _any_ idea how that— no,’ he breathed another bitter laugh, ignoring the tears stinging in his eyes. ‘No, I don’t suppose you do.’

 

Sherlock watched him grimly for a few moments, quietly accepting the sting of John’s words as a retribution, of sorts, for the pain he’d caused him up til now.

 

‘John,’ he said finally, his tone earnest. ‘That day when I was up on the roof, there was a sniper trained on you. If I didn’t jump off that roof, you would have been shot.’

John’s brow furrowed as his mind struggled to take into account this new information.

‘I… what do you…?’

‘Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade… they would’ve been shot, too. I had no choice. I had to jump.’

 

John fell into another stunned silence. A million questions were buzzing around the inside of his head, but were smothered by a sudden surge of emotion – a curious aching mix of shock, admiration, and something else he couldn’t quite describe, but he felt as though he might drown in it.

 

‘Sherlock…’ he said finally, struggling to find the words. ‘You… but— … why? Why didn’t you – I don’t know, give me a _sign_? For so long… I really thought…’ John choked slightly on the words, biting his lip.

‘You were only safe as long as I was dead,’ Sherlock explained seriously, eyes searching John’s. ‘I’m sorry, John. If I’d tried to contact you, let you know I was alive, it could have jeopardised everything. Moriarty knew how to get to me.’

He cast a dark glance down at the rain-soaked asphalt. John watched him, brow furrowed again slightly in confusion.

‘Wha—’

‘You, John.’ Sherlock’s reply was curt, his tone a mix of impatience and just a tiny bit of what sounded like bashfulness. He cleared his throat, casting his glance upwards again, but not meeting the doctor’s eyes. ‘Moriarty chose to get to me through you. If they’d found out we’d been in contact, they would have come after you. I couldn’t let that happen. Not to my only friend.’

 

He paused, looking back at John finally, eyes silently asking for forgiveness.

‘Three years was how long it took to unravel Moriarty’s web.’

 

John shook his head slightly, running one hand over his jaw, looking skyward and anywhere but at Sherlock in an effort to stall the tears that were brimming in his eyes.

‘Bloody hell, Sherlock…’

‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’ Sherlock said, watching him. ‘I’d do it again if I had to.’ He offered another hesitant smile. ‘I’d be lost without my blogger.’

 

John choked out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, tears spilling over and streaking down his face at last. His hand rose almost immediately to cover his eyes, as though hoping to stifle the tears before they took hold, his shoulders shaking.

Sherlock stepped forward to close the remaining distance between them, wrapping his arms around the shorter man, secretly glad that John couldn’t see the tears stinging in his own eyes as well.

‘You do that again,’ John choked finally into Sherlock’s coat, ‘and I’ll bloody kill you myself.’

Sherlock laughed, blinking back his tears.

‘I like the graffiti, by the way,’ he said, steadying his voice. ‘I’m honestly touched that you never lost faith in me.’ Though his tone was teasing, the smile that came with it was genuine.

John’s answer was still muffled by his coat.

 

‘Shut up, Sherlock.’


End file.
